Become a Fan

August 15, 2015

BigMatty and the Block Rockin' Beats

We had gotten there just after the doors had opened. The hangar section of the San Francisco Armory, - a huge, open space in the century-old historic building that once housed the National Guard, was used to film the original Star Wars, and is now home to Kink.com, a producer of fetish-oriented adult entertainment.

It was a Thursday night, but we rarely get the chance to go to shows like this, so we said, "aw, what the heck, let's do it." I was tired from a busy week and not enough sleep but was optimistic that this would be worth standing in a crowd for three and a half hours.

The opening DJ had started and the mood was mellow and nice. The cavernous room was maybe a quarter full. There was a large bar in the center and what seemed like dozens of bars lining the perimeter of the room. We had come with Martin and Jennifer and spent time chatting near the back of the room as it slowly began to fill. We didn't have anything to drink - a show during the week or out for a drink during the week, but I am too old - and was too tired - to do both.

Towards the end of the first set, we decided to move closer to the stage. Plans were made to - if we got separated - meet back at our original spot by 11:30, just before the end of the show.

As the second act played the volume grew and more of the lights were used. A few times I felt the deeper bass notes vibrate in my chest. I was getting a taste of what was to come. By the end of the second set, the final one before the headliners, the volume was getting pretty loud and the crowd pretty thick.

The warm-up acts ended and a small army of people started rearranging the stage. A set that looked straight out of the Death Star was being rigged up, with computers and mixers and all manner of electronic gear while rows and rows of lights and lasers were unveiled and tested with cool efficiency and speed.

Twenty minutes later the room went dark, a cloud of fog enveloped the stage, and two DJs appeared in the center of a cone of green lasers, the two we had all come to see, the Chemical Brothers.

Then all hell broke loose.

"Hey Boy, Hey Girl" was the opener, and the crowd leapt with the words "Superstar DJs, here we go!" Lasers began shooting around the room while an immense, striped, seemingly three-dimensional figure danced above the stage. As, I assume, the engineer used the opener to test the mixing and equipment, the volume continued to grow. By the time the first song had ended, this had become the loudest concert I had ever been to.

It was aggressively loud. Remember how one of the opening acts had made my chest vibrate? That vibration had transformed into a near constant explosion. I swear I could feel it in my bowels, each coil of intestine separating from the other along with the beat. I've never experienced music so intensely. It was exhilarating, partially because it was a little bit frightening.

"Go" - their latest single, came early in the set, with its characteristically infectious Chemical Brothers bassline. People around us were dancing, swaying, pumping their fists. We were moving too, it was impossible not to move to the beat. In fact, the beat was moving us. Marissa commented later that she could feel her hair moving, caused by the explosiveness of the music.

Though the show had started with a force I had never before experienced, it only grew from there. With every next song the stimulation increased - the volume, the lights, the visuals on screen, the people in the crowd, the heat of their bodies, the fog, the smell of weed. Every sensory receptor in my body was operating at maximum capacity.

At about 30 minutes in, I started to worry about Marissa. It was getting very warm and a little hard to breathe. The crowd had grown pretty tight. It was a friendly crowd, nothing menacing, but there were a lot of us up against each other and she is a petite little thing.

I soon realized that she was just fine - it was me who was in trouble. I found myself unable to catch my breath. I was getting light headed and feeling slightly removed from my body. I have had this feeling once before: on an international flight with free booze, the day after giving blood, and I knew if I didn't act quickly I would soon be passing out.

I got her attention and began to shout that I was about to faint - I was shouting at the top of my lungs but I couldn't even hear myself. This struck me as funny, and a smile came across my face - as one did on hers - even though I knew I had to get out of the crowd in the next few seconds...

So I motioned with my eyes in a way that I hoped conveyed "I am out of here, and if we never see each other again always remember that I love you and sorry for anything annoying I may have done" and lurched my way toward the side of the room.

I felt like I was swimming uphill, in slow motion, searching for a way out of the crowd with increasing desperation, while I - of course - tried to keep a look on my face that said "yeah, I'm cool, just weaving my way through this sea of humanity because I like to. I am a people person." It felt like forever but I managed to get to one of the bars, where I was going to buy a bottle of water.

But the sign said "Cash Only". The water was five dollars and I only had two. Parents remind your children - if you are going to a concert, always take enough cash to at least buy a bottle of water.

Thankfully, just getting out of the crowd helped and the danger was passing, even without water to drink. So I made my way toward the back of the room, where a couple of doors were mercifully open to the cool San Francisco air, spent a couple of minutes engaged in deep yogic breathing and let myself calm down and my head clear.

I had missed one, maybe two songs. And by missed I mean staggered around like a fish thrust onto land while the beat pierced my soul.

I re-achieved full consciousness in time for one of the prettier songs in the set, "Star Guitar". And thus I was brought back into full concert mode. It was almost as loud where I was now standing and I was only a bit further away from the visuals than I had been with Marissa.

She joined me about 20 minutes later - gave me a big "Oh no!" when I told her what had happened but laughed when she knew I was okay. We resumed our state of mind-blown wonder as the music, the visuals and the crowd continued to entertain.

Martin and Jennifer appeared, like clockwork, at 11:30 and we prepared to leave. Just as we were turning to head to the door I looked up to see two 60 foot robots levitating above the stage, lasers shooting out of their eyes. Martin was trying to speak to me but I could not hear a word he was saying. So again I just motioned with my eyes and he turned to look, a smile growing across his face.

Then they played "Block Rockin' Beats," perhaps their most famous song and one of my favorites, and we had to stay, just a little longer.

"Galvanize" came at the end too. Maybe it was the encore, the details are fuzzy. My brain had pretty much melted by then. All I know is that after that we made our way to BART and I drove us home from Daly City. Somehow I got up the next morning for a 7AM conference call. Otherwise, it took three days to recover.

In the few days leading up to the event, as I went through my normal, healthy routine, I had moments of doubt, wondering if I was too old or had grown too square, or just too boring to go to a show like this at all, let alone on a weeknight. But as my head hit the pillow at about 2:00 AM after the show, I knew those doubts were nothing but self-limiting nonsense. I not only enjoyed this show, I felt energized by it. It may have nearly knocked me unconscious, but in the end it really just woke me up. It helped me remember that it is never too late for new experiences.

My only question now is when can we do that again? I promise to bring enough cash for water.